


Freckles and that Angsty Elf Guy

by bluphacelia



Category: The Dragon Prince (Cartoon)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Imprisonment, M/M, Neighbors, One-Sided Talking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-15
Updated: 2018-09-15
Packaged: 2019-07-12 17:17:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15999770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluphacelia/pseuds/bluphacelia
Summary: "So how long have you been here? It's been, what? Three days since I was thrown in here. It's kinda sad, my commander won't know anything's wrong until she doesn't get a missive from me. I promised to send her recon as often as I could, but then again she assumes I'm out in the field. I'm surprised they let Dinky and Dory go looking for them instead." He pauses, head hitting the hard rock behind.--Gren, bored and restless, ends up chatting to his quiet neighbor in the next cell over.





	Freckles and that Angsty Elf Guy

**Author's Note:**

> Well. I watched the dragon thing I guess. Love me some freckles and angsty elf boy.

The days are brutal. 

He stands on aching legs--muscles shaking and don't get him started on the cramps--hands tied up high above his head. However, he can watch the comings and goings of the dungeon. Feel the presence of others, try to talk, even if they avoid his gaze. These men and women he's trained with, _trained_ , commanded, ignore him as though a spell had been cast upon him. He's invisible. He's not used to being invisible.

The nights are worse. 

There is no light this far underground, but he knows the shifts, the changing of the watch. Around sundown they come. They unlock his chains and throw him into a cell with a plate of simple peasant mush and lukewarm water to drink before warning him to keep quiet--for his own good. The words leave a strange resonance within him, the vacant look and the snarling mouth an odd combination. 

He honestly doesn't know why they are keeping him around. Trump card for when the general comes back perhaps. He hopes not.

There is no light source in his cell, just the dim flickering of torches out in the corridor beyond and then silence. Thus starts his evening routine. He stretches, eats, drinks and tries to keep his spirits up the best he can. At least he isn't being tortured? Positives, right? He can't say the same for the man next door.

There's a muffled groan from the adjacent cell as though answering his fleeting thought. "You okay there buddy?" he calls out, but only gets a grunt of annoyance in return. It is the same as every other night, the man is clearly in pain. He'd seen the bitch witch go in just a few short hours before, with his daughter; going from sweet to angry, spewing curses and sweet nothings but getting silence for all his efforts. He had respect for that. Not many would be able to hold on through all that without cracking.

"So how long have you been here?" As expected, the silence just grows with the darkness.

"It's been, what? Three days since I was thrown in here. It's kinda sad, my commander won't know anything's wrong until she doesn't get a missive from me. I promised to send her recon as often as I could, but then again she assumes I'm out in the field. I'm surprised they let Dinky and Dory go looking for them instead." He pauses, head hitting the hard rock behind. They hadn't even bothered to give him a pile of hay to lie in. He'd trained them better than this.

"I wonder if they'll be able to find them," he mutters, more to himself this time than the stranger beyond.

"So what did you do to get locked in here, anyway? Kill the King," he laughs and then groans. "Okay too early for that. I liked him a lot, even with all his flaws. He was good to the Queen, the Spirits bless her soul."

"I might not have agreed with his politics, but my commander is a good woman. She keeps all of us in line. Now, if I could just somehow get word to her that the bitch witch is just that. A bitch of a witch." He can feel the useless anger just below his skin. When he gets out the first thing he'll do is gut that wench. No trial needed for this one lads.

"I never liked him and his...magic. It just seems unnatural to me. The whole black eyed thing, pulling from life instead of the elements who freely give it. I don't know. What do you think, friend?" He waits again. Turning his head toward the wall where he knows the man is tied up. He can sometimes hear the shackles jangle as he shifts in place. "Not a man of many words I see." 

He sighs. "If I escape, don't worry I'll take you with me. We can go to the fortress and rally our troops against the usurper. I can practically smell the war brewing, and not just between us and the--the elf dragons or whatever, but human against human. It's been a while since we've had out right war. Too busy killing others, I guess. Makes you think what any of this was for anyway." He chuckles. "Not very soldiery of me now is it. But having seen as much as I have it'll either turn you toward bloodlust or into a pacifist. I like to think I'm practical--"

"You don't even know me," the words are muffled and low, voice gravely with disuse and lack of water--he'd heard the man refuse food and drink more than once--ready to die for the cause. He wasn't sure what his cause had been but it was against the advisor so he was all in for that.

"Well you know a lot about me! Care to tell me something about you?" he blinks his eyes against the dark, hoping against hope that he could see something, anything, so he could grasp onto this small instance of human contact.

"Do you--always speak this much?" the voice comes again. There's a cough, dry and heaving. Unhealthy.

"Oh, it's my job. I mean I talk as a job. It's clearly in the job description to always be available and ready to speak. Not that I spoke for myself that often, the past few years I've just been the voice for someone else. I hope she found someone else to interpret."

"Talk--for someone? How can they not--talk for themselves" The words are halting and jagged, an accent is pushing through that he can't quite place, but it must be due to the pain and suffering.

"Some people are born without the ability to talk or hear or see," he says, tilting his head back as he shifts closer to where the voice comes from. "Do you not have this where you're from?"

The answering silence doesn't deter him. "My sister was unable to hear from birth. She was a wee little thing, the cutest little freckles on her nose. Of course we didn't know she was deaf until she was early two and not responding to her name. Mother was heartbroken but my sister was smart as a fiddle. We asked around for a solution and--and the commander. She was passing through and heard," he chuckles at the irony," heard about us. I must have been seventeen at the time. Got us a tutor. My sister learned to talk in no time at all. Took me a bit longer, but the commander took a shine to me, I guess. A year later I'd enlisted and she took me under her wing. I truly owe her so much."

The silence stretches out, infinite before him once more. "Hey," he says into the darkness. There is a deep sigh in response.

"I know you're in pain, but I promise we'll get out. He's going to pay for what he's done to you. What he's done to me. Promise me you'll hold out? Don't go dying on me ya hear!"

There is a shifting of weight behind the rocks. "I am already dead."

The answer comes soft and low and pierces his heart like a burning sunforge dagger. He clasps his hands closer as he pulls his knees in. 

"I'll save you," he promises the silence.

THE END

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me: [tumblr](http://bluphacelia.tumblr.com/) and [twitter](https://twitter.com/blu_tweets).


End file.
